


Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines

by kisssanitygoodbye



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a knot inside Anders’ body that Karl cannot undo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawkeward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeward/gifts).



> This was written as a DA Secret Santa gift. :)

**I.**

There is a knot inside Anders’ body that Karl cannot undo—not with words, not with touches, not even with magic.

Anders is restless hands and flighty gazes, all directionless energy, because where can it go inside these walls? It is thrown back by cold stone, circulating around him and sometimes, it turns into a storm, so strong that his head flies away to places it should not remember, because the memories hurt. Living in the Circle Tower can turn the chiriping of birds into deafening screeches, can make raindrops burn your skin and the sun turn you blind if you let it.

The best way to survive is to split your soul into  _before_  and  _after_ , and to lock  _before_ into the back of your mind, and you best use ten differently shaped locks and throw all the keys away. Memories are like honey; it takes far too long to scrub them off.

There are mages who have succeeded. On some days, Karl thinks he’s one of them, but then Anders starts talking, and his words are so full of  _before_  that Karl’s locks are breaking, one by one, and his will is too weak to hold them together.

Anders is like a beacon, in everything he does, and Karl has no doubt that he is the freest person in the Tower, because no one else here can burn so bright. Most don’t see his light, only the bitterness, the impertinence, the urge to fight against any manacles that are put on him, and it’s not fair, because he is so much more than that and sometimes, he is even too much.

“Andraste can go die in a fire.” It’s cold in the chapel, and Anders and Karl are huddled up to one another on a bench, looking at the altar and the huge statue of the prophet because Anders needs to calm down, and this usually helps.

“She did,” Karl says with a sort-of-smile. “And you don’t mean that.”

And he’s right. Anders doesn’t hate Andraste. In fact, Karl is sure that the contrary is true. What he hates are the things people do in her name, and that’s different. But there’s no reasoning with him when he gets like this, and even Karl can’t blame him. All mages hit rock bottom sometimes, but every time it happens to  _Anders_ , it seems like the ground is hitting back.

Anders leans forward, hands pressed against the backrest of the bench in front of them, and when he huffs, the size of the chapel makes the noise sound much too loud. “I just want out.”

“I know.” There’s not much that Karl can say, after all.

And of course, it’s not good enough for Anders, who looks at Karl the way he looks at everyone who doesn’t understand, and it’s not fair, because Karl  _does_ , he’s only trying to forget  _why_ he does. “You’re okay with this? With the thought that this is what your whole life is going to look like?”

Karl sighs wearily, because Anders is just looking for a fight again. They’ve taken the option of flight away from him, and when Anders can’t run, he starts lashing out. And since Karl is the person who is often around when something in Anders breaks again, he has to feel the desperation and frustration that have nothing to do with him and everything to do with people who are  _not_  Karl. Again, it’s not fair… but what is?  
  
 **II.**

There is a window in the room for once. The evening light paints irregular patterns of light and shadow on the thick stone walls, and while Karl’s face is lying in shadow, Anders’ is illuminated, the orange glow making him look unreal, almost like a dream.

This is the Anders Karl loves the most, the quiet, self-assured young man that rarely comes to the surface. But here, in the abandoned storage room on the fifth floor, they can both take a few moments to let everything go - well, everything but one another - and the change in Anders is so obvious that Karl wonders how long it would have taken him to snap and run again had he not made the effort to bribe an enchanter and to keep an eye on Templar patrols, figuring out which floor and room would be the safest on this particular day.

“We should get up,” Karl says, breathing still laboured as he turns to face Anders whose head is buried in a pillow, with his hair dishevelled, his eyes sparkling and his smile honest, and even though Karl has thought this many times before only to be proven wrong, now he’s absolutely sure that Anders has never been more beautiful. 

“Just a few more minutes?” Anders’ voice is muffled by Karl’s skin as he nuzzles Karl’s neck, and now his face is bathed in shadow and in light, and it’s probably because of the incredible amount of affection surging through him - and the afterglow of having Anders on top of him, flushed and grinning and purring like a cat - that he can’t help but think how Anders belongs there, stuck between darkness and light and not quite sure which side he should turn to.

“Alright.”

“ _Danke_.”

Karl smiles at Anders’ use of their shared native tongue, and Anders wraps an arm around Karl’s stomach, pressing himself to Karl’s back until they’re both lying in the shadow. The sun is low in the sky, and the golden glow of the thick walls is getting weaker by the minute.

It feels like an infinity, lying there with Anders, hot breath on his neck and a hand drawing senseless patterns on his arm. In truth, it’s only been an hour, maybe one and a half. Not what other people would call an infinity, but Karl would and  _does_ , because this hour - or maybe one and a half - of quiet bliss is more than other people have in a whole lifetime.

“You should come with me.” Anders whispers, and he doesn’t need to explain what he means. There is nothing that can keep Anders here, the wish for freedom stronger than anything Karl could offer him.

“I will try,” Karl says, even though he knows that he won’t. But Anders desperately needs to believe in  _something_ , and since there’s nothing else, Karl will try everything to make Anders at least believe in  _him_.

He turns around in Anders’ arms and rolls him onto his back, and when he kisses him, slow and deep and with too much tongue, both their faces are back in the light, but Karl knows that they won’t be for long.  
  
 **III.**  
  
When Karl sees him being dragged through the door by Biff and Rolfe, the first thing he notices is the hate in Anders’ eyes. It’s never defeat or disappointment, never weakness. Instead, he’s burning with determination, with challenge, with  _life_ , because even though they’ve taken Anders’ freedom and choices from him, what the Templars will never get is his spirit.

At least that’s what he wants them to think. Karl knows that the grin on Anders’ face as he looks at Greagoir and Irving is fake, and he’s noticed the slight limp too. Biff has never been known for his kindness.

Once Karl has Anders for himself — they managed to sneak into an empty classroom — he notices other things too. Anders looks so, so tired, and the limp is more serious than Karl had assumed.

“How did they find you this time?”

Anders eases himself down onto one of the chairs. He’s stopped smiling the second he turned his back on the Templars. “I fell asleep, and that gave them enough time to catch up to me. I need to be more careful next time.”

 _Next time_. Of course.

“You’re hurt,” Karl says, taking a few tentative steps towards Anders before kneeling down to take a look at his leg.

“Nothing I can’t fix after a few hours of sleep.”

They look at one another, and Karl understands, he does, but he still wishes that Anders was a little more like him, a little more content and a little less haunted.

Karl has accepted this life years ago, and of course the Circle needs to change, but he’s always preferred the diplomatic, peaceful route.

It doesn’t work for Anders. The Circle feeds him and gives him clothes and shelter and heals his scratches whenever he can’t do it himself. They’re doing everything to keep him alive, but not alive enough.

And Anders… Anders misses the future he will never have. He wants  _life_ , aches for it with every fibre of his being, and there’s nothing inside these walls that can replace the feeling of cool rain on his face.

Karl lays a hand on Anders’ knee and looks up at him. “Is it worth it?”

Anders bites his lip and stares at the wall for a while, and when his eyes travel back to meet Karl’s, there’s a smile on his face. “Always.”  
  
 **IV.**  
  
This time, Anders hasn’t gotten away with kitchen duty.

It’s been two weeks since Karl saw him last, and he’s tried to get information from Irving, but the First Enchanter just smiled sadly and gave him nothing more than a  _Anders has left them no choice_.

And for the first time in a very long while, Karl wants to run too, but not without walking down into the Dungeons first to break out the person responsible for this unfamiliar desire.

Instead of going to the Dungeons, Karl makes his way down to the kitchen, two weeks and three days after Anders vanished - or no, not vanished, Karl  _knows_ where he is, but considering that people are acting as if he never existed he might just as well have died.

“Clarice?”

The elderly woman turns to face him, and he can see her trademark smile slowly spread on her face. “Karl! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He only knows her because of Anders, so it feels wrong to visit her alone, but this is for  _him_ , which makes it alright, he assumes.

“I need you to do me a favour.”

Clarice lifts an eyebrow, because neither Anders nor him have ever asked her in such a direct way. Mostly, she just used to make milk with honey and cinnamon when Anders was younger, back when the wounds inflicted on him were fresher.

And of course Clarice says yes, because she remembers the young boy from the Anderfels, how he’d sat at the small table in the corner and given her a careful smile, as if he expected her to alert the Templars any minute. His smiles have gotten fewer over the years, weaker and less honest, even though she tries to make him laugh. She’s just a cook, but the Circle is breaking her too.

The message is simple.  _You’ll get through this. I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t give up. I want you to live._

Karl never thought  _he_ ’d be the one telling  _Anders_  to keep fighting, when usually it’s the other way around. But Solitary is eating away at his spirit; Karl has seen the death in Anders’ eyes when  _they_ escorted him out of the Dungeons for the first time, after only one week. He doesn’t want to imagine what he’ll look like this time.

One message won’t be enough, Karl knows that, and thinking about the possibility of Anders not being Anders anymore the next time they’ll see one another feels like a punch in the gut - because the truth is that Anders has been supporting Karl just as much as Karl has been supporting him, and Karl is not sure if Anders is even aware of that.

Clarice promises to hide the note under Anders’ soup bowl, and even though it’s just a tiny drop of water on a hot stone, Karl is relieved that Anders will have  _something_ to hold on to.

And then, all he can do is wait, for another two weeks and five days.

The first thing Anders asks for is a promise.  _If they ever make me Tranquil, don’t leave me like this. Please, Karl, don’t let them have me._

They swear an oath to each other in Karl’s bed chamber - promising to set the other free.  
  
 **V.**

It is an odd thing to know that you have died, to feel yourself as a living breathing human being, but know your life is over. Karl knows how that feels now, and as he looks into Anders’ familiar face, into those eyes, into that tragic furrow in his brow, he wishes that they had just killed him properly—a dagger to the belly would have been kinder than this, kinder than leaving him as a sleepwalking shell for Anders to see. It’s good that it’s Anders, but oh, to know that in the moments before recognition thawed him he had been nothing terrifies him.

Karl does not frighten easily. The fear is unfamiliar, so too are those with Anders, some men, a dwarf, nobody that Karl recognises. New friends. It’s good that he has new friends. It’s good that he has friends—it’s good that he’s free, and it’s good that he’s standing in front of Karl, looking as though his world has come to an end. Karl wants to tell him that it’s not his world, not even his life, and that he’ll go on somehow. He wants to say goodbye. Most of all, he wants to tell Anders how he shines, how in that moment he is the brightest thing that ever existed, that he’d ever seen, and how Anders has  _always_  shined like that, even if Karl was the only one who noticed.

How ironic, Anders standing in front of that sun Andraste holds high, outshining her.

Karl wants to touch his forehead, to make sure, but his reflection in Anders’ eyes is all he needs. He nods, and Anders shakes his head, always so argumentative, always so petulant, and Karl wants to ruffle his hair the way he used to and kiss him between his brows. But this isn’t one of Anders’ little mistakes. It’s not like letting the Templars see you making eyes or holding hands; it’s not watching them drag him back a half dozen times, only to know that one time they’ll bring back a corpse.

Funny how wrong he’d been.

Funny how it isn’t funny now.

He feels the knife. That sharp coldness registers, despite the cloud that has muffled everything around him, and when that cloud fades, it’s because his eyes are closing. As it ends, he feels nothing, but damned if he doesn’t see a light.


End file.
